


Nightmare

by knockoutmouse



Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Angst with a Happy Ending, Awkward Sexual Situations, But he doesn't know the word for it, But they get better, Canon Disabled Character, Cuddling & Snuggling, Demisexual Fernald, Dreams and Nightmares, Emotional Sex, Enthusiastic Consent, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Headcanon: Henchperson is autistic, Healthy Relationships, Henchperson is called Rory, Henchperson spends a bunch of time crying, Hurt/Comfort, Intersex Character, Kissing, Lingerie, Love Confessions, Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Near Death Experiences, Nonbinary Character, Oral Sex, Other, Pet Names, Scars, Self-Esteem Issues, Sexual Fantasy, Shame, Sharing a Bed, Uniform Kink, Vague allusions to past transphobia, although I'm not sure if that's the right word?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2019-01-05
Packaged: 2019-09-25 12:27:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17121362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knockoutmouse/pseuds/knockoutmouse
Summary: Fernald can't sleep. He's thinking about Rory.Rory also can't sleep. They're thinking about Fernald.Takes place during THH.





	1. Chapter 1

Fernald lay in the hospital bed, arms folded behind his head on the flimsy pillow. Not, perhaps, his first choice of accommodations, but he’d certainly had worse. And with the lack of patients in Heimlich Hospital, at least he’d gotten a room to himself. It had been some time since that had happened. Ever since Esme had shown up and the troupe had had to leave the city, they’d been constantly on the move--chasing the Baudelaires, searching for the sugar bowl, running from the law. Well, okay, that last one wasn’t anything new. But still, it felt better to have someone to blame for it, especially if that someone was as abrasive as Esme. 

Now, Fernald realized, he was exhausted. Having a room to himself--an actual room, with an actual bed, even--meant that he didn’t have to listen to Arturo snoring or Rory talking in their sleep. The latter was usually unintelligible anyway, but from the bits he’d been able to make out--not that he’d been _trying_ to--he got the impression that Rory didn’t have very pleasant dreams. 

A couple of times, Fernald had even heard them wake with a start, sitting up in the dark, their breathing shaky--and quietly, so quietly, they’d begun to cry, stifling the sound with a hand pressed to their mouth. If Fernald had still been asleep, they certainly wouldn’t have woken him. He’d wanted to go to them, to help in some way, but he didn’t know how he could. He was no good at offering comfort. And he didn’t even know what was wrong. 

Now, despite his fatigue, Fernald still couldn’t sleep. It wasn’t the silence. Rather, it was the pressure of his half-hard cock against the blankets, the voice in the back of his mind reminding him that, after all, he _was_ alone--

Fernald shifted uncomfortably, willing his erection to go away, but without success. It didn’t help that his mind kept flashing images at him of--damn it--Rory dressed as a nurse. They’d been walking around all day in that uniform, and he knew he’d had his eyes on them more than he should have. It wasn’t even as if their outfit was at all provocative, yet somehow Fernald kept imagining what it would be like to kiss them, to pull them down into his lap, let his forearm wander up under their skirt. 

He was fully hard now--he’d never get to sleep this way. Well--he _was_ alone, after all--and it _had_ been a long time--Fernald pushed down the waistband of his boxers, and rubbed the underside of his cock against his wrist. He sucked in his breath sharply through his teeth--god, it was sensitive there. 

He imagined kissing Rory, imagined them on top of him in his bed, letting him thrust against their thigh--

No. No. He should not be thinking this, should not be fantasizing about his coworker. He wouldn’t be able to look them in the eye in the morning--well, not that they made eye contact with people particularly often anyway, but that wasn’t the point. They worked together, and--Fernald shuddered as he thrust against his arm again. 

And he was sure they didn’t want him. Touching oneself while thinking about one’s partner was one thing, but thinking about one’s coworker who surely had absolutely no interest--

Fernald rocked his hips. The precome that slicked his cock eased the motion against his skin. Okay, on the other hand, he reasoned, it wasn’t as if he was hurting anyone--

Fernald imagined Rory straddling his hips, grinding against him, reaching down to give his cock a few strokes before cupping his balls, hand dropping lower to slip one finger inside him as they rubbed themselves against his cock. And since it was his fantasy, after all, he wouldn’t even have to tell them he wanted more--they’d just know, would press another finger inside him, and another, filling him up while they let him hump their thigh. God, yes, the way their long, slender fingers would probe him, how easily they’d find his prostate.

He moved his arm faster, imagining the way they’d grip his cock tighter, almost roughly, stroking hard as they curled their fingers inside him and--

Fernald bit his lip to stifle his groan as he came. He lay there for a moment, breathing hard, beginning to feel vaguely ashamed at the state of his soiled bedsheets. Reluctantly, he swung his feet out of bed and rose to go clean himself up. At least he’d be able to sleep after this.


	2. Chapter 2

In another room down the hall, Rory was equally restless in their bed. They blamed it on the romance novel they’d found lying around in one of the waiting rooms. Normally they didn’t go for that sort of thing, but they’d picked it up anyway out of boredom, and had found it surprisingly tolerable. And the sex scenes were actually kind of--well, when they’d reached the first one, they’d clapped the book shut, their face growing warm. They didn’t need to be in that kind of state while they were supposed to be working.

But once they’d been alone in their room tonight, they’d begun to read again, finding themselves increasingly turned on. 

Absently, they pressed a hand between their legs as they continued to read. Soon, though, they found themselves more absorbed in touching themselves than in the book, and they let it fall to the mattress next to them. Reaching into their panties, Rory gave their cock a gentle squeeze, bringing it to full erection. At first, they tried to imagine the hero from the novel, but despite the detailed descriptions of his appearance, they’d found him--well, rather generic and boring. As they reached lower and traced over their labia, they found themselves thinking of Fernald. They shouldn’t, they knew--he certainly wouldn’t want to sleep with them, would be disgusted if he knew they were thinking of him that way. They must have been imagining the way they thought he’d been glancing at them all day, with a curiously _appreciative_ expression. 

But he was so handsome--god, and his voice--so capable of being tender. Rory imagined the way he would whisper to them, calling them pet names between kisses, telling them how much he wanted them--

They slid two fingertips into their pussy, moving in and out slowly, drawing them up over their clit as they worked their cock with their other hand. _Fernald would kiss them once more, giving them a questioning glance with those gorgeous deep brown eyes. Then he’d lower himself, kissing their thighs, moving upward and lapping gently at their clit before moving up to take their small cock into his mouth._

Rory came surprisingly quickly. 

After a moment, their mood dropped. Fernald could never know about this little fantasy--they were sure he’d be able to read it in their face the next time they met. He’d know everything and would turn away in revulsion. He didn’t want them. Not that they could blame him. Hardly anybody did, and even less when they found out that Rory wasn’t--well, didn’t exactly have standard-issue equipment. 

Glumly, they set aside the romance novel on the bedside table and turned over. At least they’d be able to sleep now.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have the sudden headcanon that the Henchperson _really_ likes being called pet names but only if they believe the person is being completely sincere.

A half hour later, Fernald still couldn’t sleep. He was tired, yes, but there was a kind of frustrating mental energy that wouldn’t let him just shut down. Finally, growling curses under his breath, he got out of bed and threw on a bathrobe over his t-shirt and boxers. Perhaps going for a walk would help, even if it was just through the hallways of Heimlich Hospital. 

Even after pacing the length of the corridor several times, he still didn’t feel any less wound up. He didn’t want to venture out of his own hall--this place was a labyrinth; he might never find his way back. Then, from a nearby doorway, he heard a faint cry. Or had he been imagining it? No, there again, another sound, like a strangled sob. Well, what of it? This was a hospital, after all, filled with people who were miserable, in pain, maybe dying--

The patter of bare feet on the tile floor, and the door to Fernald’s left swung open as Rory stumbled out into the hallway, as if trying to escape from the confines of their room. They looked terrified, and they were crying, but relief flooded their face as soon as they saw Fernald. 

“Hey, what’s the matter?” he asked. “Are you okay?”

They nodded automatically, wiping their eyes, but Fernald could see that they were still trembling. 

“I’m fine. I just--had a nightmare. I guess it freaked me out a little.”

“Another one?” asked Fernald before he could stop himself. 

Rory stared at him. “You--how did you--?”

He shouldn’t have said it, he knew he shouldn’t have said it. “I’ve heard you wake up from them before,” he admitted. “And, well--you talk in your sleep sometimes.”

Rory wiped their eyes again. The tears hadn’t stopped. “I have bad dreams sometimes,” they admitted. “And I know it’s stupid, but sometimes when I wake up, it seems so real--” They shivered, leaning against the doorframe, folding their arms over their chest as if hugging themselves. 

Fernald reached out and touched their arm. “Hey. It’s not stupid.” He hesitated. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Rory shook their head, but went on anyway; “I dreamed that you--you all, I mean, everybody--left me here. I woke up and I was all alone. The place was completely empty. And--and something bad was going to happen, but I don’t know what. You all were gone. All the patients were gone. And then I woke up for real and for a second I thought--” They broke off with another shudder. 

Without thinking, Fernald drew them into a hug, and before he had time to doubt the appropriateness of this action, Rory had closed their arms around him, clinging to him, burying their face against his shoulder. 

“I’m sorry,” they mumbled, “I shouldn’t--”

“Shh,” said Fernald, stroking their shoulders lightly. “It’s okay. You’re okay. We’re not going to leave you. I promise.”

Gradually, they relaxed in his arms, and Fernald kept whispering, soothing their frayed nerves. “It’s all right, honey, I’m here.” 

Mentally, Rory froze. He’d called them--no, he hadn’t meant it, of course, he was just saying anything that came to mind. Even if it did make their heart totally melt, it wasn’t _real_ , it was just something you said to get your coworker to stop crying--which, by the way, they totally needed to do right now--

Fernald kicked himself--he _definitely_ shouldn’t have said that, but the word had slipped out. Rory didn’t seem to have noticed, though, so he went on quickly, “I won’t let anything happen.”

Fernald kept rubbing Rory’s back as they tried to stifle another sob against his shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay. Go ahead and cry if you need to. I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.”

He wasn’t telling them to stop crying, wasn’t telling them they were embarrassing him or that they should be able to control themselves--and somehow that made them sob harder, and Fernald was still holding them and there was no trace of annoyance or impatience but of course it was only out of pity that he was being so kind--and now he was holding them tighter, so protectively, telling them over and over, “It’s okay, I’m not going anywhere, I promise.” And that was confusing, so at odds with the reaction they’d been certain he would have, but maybe they should stop trying to make sense of it. And Fernald was still holding them, so _stable_ amidst the chaos. Rory realized they were still clinging to him, clutching handfuls of his robe. But then, after another moment, they found that they’d stopped crying, and relaxed their hold on him. 

Fernald let go and took a step back. Rory cast their eyes down, embarrassed that Fernald had seen them like this. They didn’t even know why the dream had upset them so much. It wasn’t as if anything bad had actually happened. It was only the sense--the absolute certainty--that some terrible event was approaching, nearer and nearer. 

Then, the gentle touch of Fernald’s wrist against their cheek, coaxing them to look up and meet his eyes. They did, for a second, but it felt too intense right now, too raw, and they quickly squeezed their eyes closed. 

“Rory? Are you going to be all right?”

They nodded wordlessly. They found that if they focused just past Fernald’s shoulder, they could manage looking at him, sort of. But the shine of the fluorescent lights on the hallway floor was too bright, stinging their eyes, making them squint. 

Fernald frowned, his eyebrows drawing together. “Do you want to stay in my room? So you’re not alone if you have another bad dream,” he added quickly. 

“You don’t have to--”

“No, really,” said Fernald, looking at them seriously. “I really don’t mind. I don’t want you to wake up like that again.”

“Okay,” said Rory quietly. “Thank you.” They really were grateful for the offer. Maybe, they thought cautiously, Fernald’s concern was genuine after all. Besides, they reasoned, some of their confidence returning now, when had Fernald ever been insincere with them?

Fernald led the way back to his room further down the hallway. He closed the door behind them and gestured to the untouched bed closer to the window. “You can have that one. Or--” He paused momentarily and looked over at them. “Do you want--?”

Was he offering what they thought he was?

“Can I--would you--?” Rory broke off. 

They both stood in uncomfortable silence for a moment, not quite meeting each other’s eyes. 

Rory knew that Fernald was waiting for them to be the one to ask. He probably had some idea about not placing them in an uncomfortable situation if the answer was no. Which, on the one hand, thought Rory, was quite nice, but on the other, meant that they had to actually find the words to ask for what they wanted, which at the moment was a bit of a struggle. 

“I don’t want to be alone,” they said in a rush, their face burning. “Can I stay in bed with you?”

“Sure,” said Fernald. A look flashed across his face that Rory couldn’t quite read, and he nodded toward the bed nearer the window. “Over here.”

Rory didn’t see what difference it made, but climbed into the bed and pulled the blankets over themselves. They didn’t like the hospital sheets, an odd mix of smooth and rough--cheap, coarse cloth that had been worn to softness over time, but it still felt somehow bad, strange. And it was cool in the empty bed, not to say cold, but it felt so sterile and untouched.

After a moment of--hesitation?--Fernald joined them, trying to keep a respectable distance between the two of them, but the bed was rather narrow for two people. 

Even so, their shoulders touched, Fernald’s warm skin brushing against theirs--and then he turned over to lie on his side, facing away from them. Yes. That was sensible, of course. Gave them both more room. Yet somehow--there’d been something they’d wanted, but sleep was drifting in again, blurring the edges of their thoughts, and they couldn’t remember--

Rory woke violently, heaving themselves upright, gasping for air. They looked around wildly, for a moment disoriented, panic rushing in--there had been--but now--

“Rory?” 

That was Fernald next to them. Of course. A dream, another dream. The feeling didn’t stop, but at least it hadn’t been real. They tried to slow their breathing. 

“Are you all right?”

They nodded, gulping down another breath. There was a thick, bilious feeling in their throat, utter dread spreading throughout their entire body. _Not real, not real_ they told themselves. 

“Another dream?” asked Fernald. 

“Yeah,” they choked out. 

“What was it?”

Rory shook their head. They couldn’t find the words to explain, not now. But now Fernald was whispering, “It’s okay, come here,” and his wrist was on their shoulder, drawing them back down onto the mattress. And now his arm was around them, his chest pressed warm and solid against their back. His breath was soft against their neck as he murmured, “It’s okay, it isn’t real. I’m here, sweetheart, anything you need.”

They turned over and hugged him close, hiding their face against his shoulder once again, breathing in his comforting, familiar scent as Fernald gently stroked their hair. Soon, they fell back into a dreamless sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

The flames danced in the dark, engulfing the hospital at a speed that was frankly terrifying. Fernald watched in muted disbelief from where he stood next to Olaf’s long black sedan. This couldn’t be happening. There was no way. And yet the evidence of his own eyes insisted that it was. 

Arturo and the twins were already inside the car, ready to go. Olaf was half-in, half-out of the driver’s seat. 

“Come on,” he ordered Fernald over the roof of the car. “Hop in.”

Fernald shook his head wordlessly and scanned the crowd, searching for any sign of Rory. They had to be there. They _had_ to. Any second now--

“You’re not hopping,” said Olaf dangerously. 

“But boss, we’re still waiting on you-know-who!” He knew Olaf didn’t bother to learn anyone’s names. The disbelief was morphing into panic. That wasn’t good. If he could stay detached, at least he could think more clearly about what to do. That was getting more and more difficult by the second. 

“I don’t care!” said Olaf. “We’re leaving!”

“Then I’m staying,” insisted Fernald. “I’m not leaving Rory.”

“Who?” Olaf took a moment to count up the remaining henchpeople, tallying them on his fingers. “Oh, right, the--other one.”

“The fire is spreading quickly,” noted Jenny from inside the car. 

“But we can drive away faster,” observed Elvira.

“But--” began Fernald. How could the others be so heartless? Aside from the fact that they were all villains, but still, villains should stick together, not abandon each other at the slightest inconvenience. 

“They can catch up with us later on,” said Arturo.

“No!” Fernald burst out. “You leave. I’m waiting for Rory.”

“But there’s nothing here for miles,” objected Elvira.

“You’ll be killed,” said Arturo, nodding sagely.

“Or worse, apprehended by the authorities,” said Jenny. 

“I’m not leaving them,” said Fernald. “I promised.” Granted, he maybe hadn’t had this exact scenario in mind when he assured them that he wouldn’t leave them, but he’d meant it. Despair swept over him. How could he have been so cowardly the night before? To have been so close to Rory without telling them his feelings? He’d lain in bed with them, for goodness’ sake, held them in his arms, but he’d been scared to take a chance, and now they’d never know--

No! He mustn’t think like that. Rory wasn’t going to--to _die_ , he insisted, even as he forced himself to acknowledge the possibility. They weren’t going to be left behind. At least, not by him. If the others left, then good riddance. The two of them could find their own way, together. 

“Hooky!” snapped Esme. “Are you coming or not?”

“No,” said Fernald. 

“Suit yourself,” said Olaf, climbing into the car.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter got darker and more angsty than I had intended, but I promise there will be a happy ending.

Rory wasn’t sure where they were, but there was smoke, and darkness. Their face stung, and so did their eyes--and, for that matter, so did breathing. There was something you were supposed to do in a fire, they remembered vaguely--stop, drop, and roll? No, that was for when you were actually on fire yourself. It was hard to think clearly.

They were going to die, they realized distantly. They were going to die, here in this hospital, in this fire. If they were lucky, they were going to breathe in smoke until they lost consciousness, forever. If they weren’t lucky--

A crash and the roar of flames nearby emphasized the second option as a distinct possibility. 

But there, just ahead, the noise of people--footsteps, a panicked cry. Rory hurried forward, and caught up with the last few patients fleeing the building. They realized they were still clutching the cloth they’d grabbed in the supply closet, and pressed it to their face, as if that was going to be any help.

Were they going to die here? Maybe, though now it would be with this group of strangers, instead of alone.

The woman at the head of the group seemed to know where she was going, and led the others down a series of turns in the long hallways.

Rory’s thoughts leapt to Fernald. Well, they decided, at least their last night alive had been spent with him, even if they’d been too stupid--too weak--to tell him their true feelings. Still too scared, in the back of their mind, to believe that the way he’d held them and whispered to them was motivated by anything more than pity. Too scared to ask for what they wanted.

But now, finally, a door, a lighter shade of darkness, a breeze, and the small group spilled out through the doorway. Once outside, Rory took a moment to appreciate the cool, clean air--maybe not optimal, considering the proximity of a large burning building, but comparatively cooler and cleaner than inside the hospital. 

If the hospital was burning, that had to be the work of Olaf and the troupe. Which meant that they would be fleeing right about now, if they hadn’t already. Rory looked around quickly. This seemed to be the back of the hospital, which meant that Olaf’s sedan would be parked--in which direction? Rory wasn’t great at spatial orientation at the best of times, and the added pressure of the current circumstances only made things worse. At a loss for any other solution, they took off at a run toward the nearest corner of the building and hoped for the best. And as they reached it--yes, there was a larger crowd on that side, and the combination of the fire and the exterior lights that were still functional provided some illumination, but it was hard to focus on any one point as they ran. The noise and the crowd didn’t help, making everything into a confusing blur so that it was enough of a challenge simply not crashing into people. 

This was _not good_. If Olaf and the others had left already--

It was at this moment that it dawned on Rory that they actually hadn’t died in the burning hospital, but they filed that thought away to deal with at a later time. Even so, that started their mind down another path that was running at some lower level, underneath _Don’t die_ and _Find the others_ \--the realization that they would, in fact, see Fernald again and have another chance--except if everyone had left, they wouldn’t actually see him, would have no idea how to find the troupe again, let alone how to find anything else out here in the Hinterlands. 

_But Fernald promised_ \--No. He’d only been talking about last night, that he wouldn’t leave them alone then. In fact, he probably hadn’t meant it at all, not really. And even if he had, they couldn’t expect him to keep a promise like that under these circumstances. And they were never going to see him again, and the troupe had to be gone already, and--

And there was Fernald, standing next to Olaf’s sedan, looking desperate and panicked and apparently in some sort of argument with Olaf, who stood on the other side of the vehicle. Olaf shook his head and began to lower himself into the driver’s seat. Rory sprinted toward them. Fernald looked up, and--they couldn’t tell what his expression was. Shock? Disbelief? Something more than that--he looked as if he were about to cry. 

“Wait!” shouted Fernald at Olaf. “Boss, wait, they’re here.”

“Hurry up!” barked Olaf. 

Rory had nearly reached the car now. Fernald ran to meet them, and seized them around the waist, practically crushing them against his chest, but that was exactly what Rory needed, and they returned the embrace. And then, too high on adrenaline and relief and residual terror to second-guess themselves, Rory kissed Fernald, hard and desperate, and he was kissing them back, holding them even tighter. 

Fernald broke the kiss far too soon. “We have to go,” he said, guiding them hurriedly toward the car with a hook at their back. “Talk later,” he added quickly as they reached the car and he helped them inside. “Promise.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Don't worry about the Baudelaires, they'll be fine. It's just like camping.)

For Rory, most of the car ride was a blur, punctuated only by coughing fits. 

“Really, darling,” said Esme at one point, “must you? You sound like that awful banker.”

One of the twins had apologetically murmured something about smoke inhalation, and Arturo produced a bottle of water from somewhere, which he offered to Rory with an odd look of--discomfort? Shame? Guilt?

The water helped a little with the coughing, and a lot with helping Rory focus on not dissolving into a crying mess, which was turning out to be harder than they expected. It was more a physical reaction than anything--some aftereffect of adrenaline, perhaps. Their hands shook as they raised the water to their lips. 

Later on, it would occur to them that they were fortunate the side effects weren’t any worse. But right now, all that Rory could think of was how much they wanted-- _needed_ \--Fernald’s presence. The kiss had left all their nerves on fire--okay, bad metaphor, considering. But they needed to hold onto him, needed to kiss him again--needed to make sense of the chaotic whirlwind of thoughts sweeping through their mind. 

They were still trying to process, at a very basic level, the events of the past half hour. First off, they’d almost died, which had been quite unpleasant. Also, Fernald had kissed them--or rather, kissed them _back_ , which had been far more pleasant.

At least the coughing gave them an excuse for their eyes watering, even if they were pretty sure that Jenny and Elvira had caught on, because Jenny took their hand in hers and Elvira offered them her handkerchief. 

Eventually, Rory became aware that some sort of argument was taking place between Esme and Olaf in the front seat, something to do with stopping for the night. Before long, Olaf pulled off the road and into the parking lot of a dilapidated motel, but he didn’t look happy about it. 

If Rory had been in the frame of mind to notice such things, they might have thought at first glance that the motel was abandoned, but in reality, it was simply very run down and had no other guests. As it was, they merely followed the rest of the troupe in climbing out of the car and lurking in the parking lot while Olaf went into the motel’s shabby office to pay, or possibly just threaten, the clerk. Either way, he returned with several room keys, which he distributed among the troupe. He gave one to Jenny, one to Arturo, and one to Rory. 

“We leave at dawn,” Olaf said with a scowl.

“Yes, boss,” said Fernald, but he seemed preoccupied as he opened the trunk of the black sedan. No one paid particular attention to a faint rustling in the nearby bushes. 

The troupe retrieved their meager belongings and began to disperse to their respective rooms. 

“You staying with me or them?” Arturo asked Fernald.

Fernald slammed the trunk shut and tilted his head wordlessly in Rory’s direction, and Arturo nodded in silent understanding before taking his leave. 

“Is that all right with you?” Fernald asked quietly as he gave Rory their rather crushed overnight bag from the trunk. “Just so we have a chance to talk. If you’d rather I not stay, I can tell Arturo I changed my mind.”

“Of course I want you to stay,” said Rory, unlocking the door to their room. They flipped on the lights and dropped their bag onto the floor. Fernald tossed his down next to it, and Rory locked the door behind them. 

They went to Fernald at once and wrapped their arms around him. He was so warm, and strong, and instantly they felt _safe_ as he held them. 

“Oh my god,” Fernald murmured against their neck. “Oh my god, sweetheart, I can’t believe I almost lost you. Can you ever forgive me?”

It took a moment for the words to register. “Forgive you for what?” they asked. 

Fernald took a step back and looked up at them seriously. “Everything. You could have been killed. And all I could think about was last night, and how I didn’t say anything--didn’t tell you--” He broke off, his voice cracking. 

Rory reached up and stroked his cheek gently. “That’s not your fault,” they said. “And last night--I didn’t say anything either. I was too scared. I thought you wouldn’t want me.”

Fernald gave a shaky laugh and sank down onto the edge of the bed. Rory joined him, and as they sat, they realized how physically exhausted they were. 

“Not want you?” repeated Fernald in disbelief. “I thought _you’d_ never want _me_.”

“Are you serious?” said Rory. “You’re, like, amazing and super hot, and--” And they couldn’t believe they’d just said all that out loud. And then another thought occurred to them. Maybe things weren’t going to work out so neatly after all. They gave a sigh.

“What is it?” asked Fernald

“There’s something I should tell you before--well, you might change your mind after all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They both really need to work on their self-esteem.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been struggling with this chapter and feel like it's not very good, but I'm thinking one more chapter after this?

Fernald raised his eyebrows quizzically. “What is it?”

Rory sighed. “I’m--okay, I’ll just tell you. I’m intersex.”

“Oh,” said Fernald with a shrug. “Okay.” When Rory didn’t say anything else, he prompted gently, “Was that all?”

Okay, so far, so good. Fernald didn’t seem upset or disgusted. But they needed to be sure. “You know what that is?”

“Yes, it’s when--” Fernald waved a hook, as if choosing his words. “People who aren’t what we think of as typically male or female, physically.”

“And that doesn’t bother you?” asked Rory, still hesitant to believe it. 

“Bother me? No, of course not. Why would it?” asked Fernald. Then a look of understanding crossed his face. “It’s been a problem for other people, hasn’t it?” he asked gently.

Rory nodded. “I just thought I should tell you now, in case--in case it mattered.”

“Hey,” said Fernald, leaning in close, resting his hook lightly on Rory’s hand. “You know I love you for who you are, not whatever’s under your dress, right? I mean--” He froze, as if realizing what he’d just said. 

“You love me?” repeated Rory. 

“I, I, that is--sorry, I shouldn’t have--”

“I love you, too.”

The two of them kissed again, and this time, it was soft, gentle. They sank slowly back onto the bed, holding each other close.

Rory kissed him again. “I kept thinking of you,” they said, “when I was still inside the hospital. I was afraid I’d never see you again.”

Fernald looked at them seriously, and Rory was surprised to see that his eyes were wet with tears. “I was so scared for you,” he said hoarsely. “Baby, I love you so much. God, I’m glad you’re safe.”

“I thought I wouldn’t be able to find you,” Rory confessed. “But you waited for me.”

“I made a promise,” said Fernald. He drew Rory closer to him and kissed them on the forehead. “You smell like smoke,” he murmured. 

This was true, they realized. “I should take a shower.” But that would require getting up, which would mean letting go of Fernald. They nuzzled against his shoulder. “But I’d rather stay right here.”

“I’d like that, too,” admitted Fernald. “But you’ll probably feel better. Does it still hurt?”

“Huh?”

“Your face,” he said, nodding toward them. “Looks like you got hit pretty hard.”

Rory gingerly touched their cheek. “Oh. Right. It does still sting.”

“Go on. I’m not going anywhere,” promised Fernald.

They got up reluctantly and went into the tiny bathroom. Once they got a look at themselves in the mirror, they saw that they were covered in sweat and soot. For a moment, they considered soaking in the bath, until they saw how small the bathtub actually was. A shower it was, then. 

The showerhead was too low, and the motel-provided soap was cheap and smelled rather antiseptic, but it was better than nothing. Rory found after a few minutes of standing under the warm water and scrubbing the grime from their skin, they did feel remarkably more relaxed. And Fernald was in the other room, waiting for them. Again, the thought _you almost died_ hit them, and they trembled under the water. They needed someone to hold onto. They felt suddenly too exposed, too helpless against the next impending danger. 

They stepped out of the shower and dried off with one of the pitifully small and unpleasantly scratchy towels, and changed into the nightgown they’d had in their bag. The fabric was cool and dry, a welcome change after the sweat-drenched uniform.

Rory went back into the bedroom. “All yours,” they said. To their surprise, Fernald had already changed and lay in one of the beds, under the blankets. 

Fernald raised his eyebrows teasingly. “Oh, are you?”

That alleviated Rory’s anxiety a little, and they laughed. “I meant the shower.” 

“Do you know you have a beautiful smile?” asked Fernald. 

“I--uh--” Rory found themselves at a loss for words. “No?”

“Well, you do,” said Fernald, unperturbed. “Anyway, I’ll shower in the morning. Care to join me?” He lifted the corner of his blankets in invitation. 

“I’d like that.” Rory turned out the lights and joined Fernald in bed, curling up next to him beneath the covers. Though the blankets were thin, they immediately made them feel less vulnerable. Rory held onto Fernald, hiding their face against his chest, enjoying his warmth. 

Fernald’s arms closed around them. “Baby, you’re shaking. Are you okay?”

Rory nodded, and Fernald gave them a doubtful look. 

“Yeah, no, I mean, I will be,” they corrected themselves. “It’s just--I keep realizing I almost died and--it’s like, I know I’m fine _now_ but at the same time everything’s really messed up, and--I don’t know--I need--” Rory broke off with a sigh of frustration, knowing that once again they were failing to articulate their feelings. 

“Shh, it’s okay. It’s okay, love, I understand.” He kissed them softly. “It’s all over and you’re here with me now. I won’t let anything happen.”

Rory’s heart was racing, but soon enough, the warmth, the soothing words, Fernald’s presence, and the blank darkness of the room all allowed them to relax. Before long, the two henchpeople had fallen asleep in each other’s arms.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow this chapter turned out super long. Also, I myself am neither intersex nor an amputee, so if I messed up anything in this chapter, I apologize and ask you to please correct me.

The next night, after the long drive through the Mortmain Mountains to Caligari Carnival, and the seemingly interminable gathering in Madame Lulu’s tent, Rory was only too happy to retire to one of the empty caravans. Speaking of which, there seemed to be an abundance of unoccupied caravans. It appeared that the carnival had fallen upon hard times. Every member of the troupe could have had their own, if they’d wanted, but Rory hoped that Fernald would take them up on their hastily-whispered invitation to join them. 

They still craved his touch, but tonight, they felt far more calm and confident than the night before. They rummaged through the few belongings they had left crammed into their overnight bag, and nodded. Yes, that would do. 

By the time Fernald knocked at their door, Rory reclined on the bed reading a book they’d found on the shelf. Rory let him in and didn’t fail to notice how he cast a quick but appreciative glance over them, taking in their rather short silk robe as they locked the door behind him.

“I’ve missed you,” said Rory. 

“We’ve been together all day,” said Fernald. 

“No, the troupe has been together all day,” corrected Rory. “I haven’t had a chance to see you alone until now...haven’t had a chance to do this,” they murmured, leaning in to kiss him softly. Fernald’s eyes fluttered closed, and he gave a small sigh. His reaction gave Rory a warm, floating feeling in their stomach, and as Fernald deepened the kiss, the warm feeling progressed downwards.

“Are you feeling better?” asked Fernald.

Rory nodded. “Thank you, by the way.”

Fernald looked puzzled. “For what?”

“Last night.”

“I didn’t really do anything.”

“Yes, you did,” said Rory, and kissed him again, pressing themselves against him. His leather jacket was still cold from the outdoors, and the chill seeped through their thin robe. They found the sensation surprisingly enjoyable. Fernald held them close, making no move to do anything besides keep kissing them slowly, and they found themselves growing more and more excited. 

“Would you like to, um, take things a little further?” they asked. They thought they were reading the signals correctly, but they were still nervous, still a little afraid of rejection even though they knew it was irrational.

“If you’d feel comfortable with that,” said Fernald. 

Rory let their robe slide off their shoulders to the floor, revealing their satin babydoll pajamas in soft pink. For a moment, they hesitated to look up at Fernald. They hoped he would like this, or at least not hate it or laugh at them. When they did look up, they found that he had stopped in his tracks, eyes gone wide, mouth hanging slightly open as if in surprise.

“Do you like this?” asked Rory. 

Fernald nodded almost helplessly, unable to take his eyes off them. “You’re--that’s--the color suits you,” he said finally. 

Rory could practically feel their smile slowly drain away. “The--the color?” they repeated in disappointment. “That’s all?”

Fernald seemed to reach a sudden understanding. “Oh! No, you look really sexy and--and I’m really turned on, but I didn’t know if that was all right to say or if it would be too much.”

“I mean, I _am_ trying to seduce you,” Rory pointed out. “So that’s kind of the effect I was going for.”

“Oh,” said Fernald in relief. “Oh, good. It’s working.” But still he only continued to kiss them softly, his hooks resting lightly at their waist, and Rory was becoming increasingly perplexed. 

“Is there anything else you’d like to do?” they asked. “I mean, kissing you is very nice and I like it a lot, but I was thinking perhaps we could do more than that?” A possibility occurred to them. “Wait, are you--is this sort of thing even something you’re interested in? Or--?”

They let go of Fernald and sat down at the edge of the bed. They went on, “I’m sorry if I’ve misunderstood. Um--I’m going to have to ask you to tell me directly here. I’m--not always great at picking up hints.”

Fernald tilted his head as if puzzling out their question. “What? Oh! No, I’m not asexual or anything like that. Well,” he said, considering, “actually maybe something a little bit like that. Sort of on the border?”

He sat next to them on the bed. “I’m not sure how to explain. The other person has to be--very special to me,” he explained apologetically, then perked up. “Which you are. But because of that, I don’t have a lot of, er, experience and to tell the truth I’m very nervous right now because I like you so much and I really want to sleep with you and I’m not used to that. Would you kiss me again?” he concluded in a rush.

Rory was quite happy to do so. They had not expected this, needing to take charge this way with Fernald, but found rather to their surprise that they liked it. Their hand crept up under the hem of his shirt. “Is this okay?”

Fernald nodded, and Rory ran their palm slowly over his stomach and chest, learning the contours of his body. He trembled against them, and Rory kissed him again in reassurance. 

“Sure this is all right?” they asked cautiously. 

“Yes, I--I like that. It’s been--a very long time,” said Fernald. “Hold on. One second.” He stepped back a few paces, and Rory was confused for a moment until Fernald began to remove his prosthetics. He glanced up awkwardly. “Er--just give me a minute, I’m really sorry about this--”

“What? No,” said Rory with a frown. 

Fernald paused with a stricken look. “No?”

“I mean, no, don’t apologize. Not for that,” they said.

Fernald didn’t reply, just gave them a long, unfathomable look almost as if he were sad, but they didn’t think the sadness--if that’s what it was--was directed at them. Fernald closed his eyes slowly and nodded, and Rory still couldn’t make out what he was thinking. 

“Did I say the wrong thing?” Rory asked. 

Fernald shook his head. “No, sweetheart,” he said, his voice low and husky with emotion. “Not at all.” He finished taking off his hooks, set them on the battered surface of the table, and turned back to Rory.

“Well,” said Fernald. “Here we are.” 

Rory went to him and cupped his face in their hands. “Are you okay?” they asked quietly.

“I’m all right,” said Fernald. “Like I said, it’s been a long time since I was with anyone. And…” He trailed off. 

“And what?” asked Rory. 

Fernald gave a melancholy smile and leaned forward to kiss them on the tip of the nose. “And you’re a good person.”

“I don’t think I understand.”

“It’s all right.” Fernald took them in his arms and held them close, resting his forehead for a moment against their shoulder. “I love you.”

“I love you too. A lot,” they said, pulling back to look at him seriously. “You know I mean it when I say that, right?”

This time, Fernald’s smile was less melancholy. “I know.” He kissed them again. After a moment, as they kissed him just below the earlobe, he whispered, “I like the way you were touching me before.”

Rory slid their hands under his shirt again, stroking the smooth skin of his back and shoulders. “Can I take this off?” they asked softly. 

Fernald nodded. “Yes, love, go ahead.”

Gently, carefully, they lifted off his shirt and took a moment to appreciate the sight before them. They ran a hand over his chest, through the coarse dark hair there, crisscrossed with lighter scars where his skin was shiny and looked almost raw even though the wounds were long healed. 

When they met Fernald’s eyes this time, the apologetic expression was still there, but now it was tinged with--hope?

“I’m glad you feel comfortable with letting me look at you this way,” said Rory. They kissed him again, dropping down to brush their lips against his throat, and he gasped. _That_ was definitely a positive reaction. 

They weren’t sure whether or not they liked the feel of his stubble against their cheek. It was prickly and scratchy, but on the other hand, took them out of the haze of everything else enough to help them stay in the moment instead of drifting off into the euphoria of it all.

Fernald began to move, hesitated, then tentatively rested his scarred wrist against Rory’s back, gently stroking their shoulders, almost petting them as they kissed lower, across his collarbone, down his chest, over his scars. 

“Is this still okay?” they asked, looking up at him for confirmation.

“Yes, sweetheart, I like that very much.”

He tenderly touched their cheek, and Rory turned their head to kiss softly down his arm, then along the surgical scar crossing his wrist. Fernald made a quick, choked sound, and Rory looked up at him quickly, wondering whether they’d crossed a line, made him feel self-conscious. But no, Fernald held them close and kissed them hard. “I love you,” he murmured frantically against their mouth. “God, I love you.”

Fernald kissed their throat, caressed Rory’s shoulders and arms, handling them as if they were delicate, making them shiver. His touch inched closer to their chest, but never quite got there. They wondered if he was still nervous. 

Rory placed their hands over his wrists and guided them to their breasts. “Touch me.”

Fernald pressed gently against them. They liked the way it felt to be touched through the satin, and they could hear their own breathy gasps as Fernald kissed along their throat and shoulders, rubbing their breasts, first with a light, almost tickling touch that progressed to a harder pressure that made them give a moan. 

A glance downward was all they needed to see just how much Fernald was enjoying this. They placed a hand on his knee, moving gradually up his thigh until they’d gone far enough to break the kiss and ask, “And this?”

“Yes. Yes.”

They palmed his erection through his pants, and to their surprise, Fernald gave a cry, thrusting up against their touch. 

“God, yes,” he breathed. 

“More?” asked Rory, and Fernald nodded. They undid his belt and fly, and traced over the front of his boxers, their fingertips just barely making contact with his cock through the thin cloth. He thrust his hips upward again with a groan. 

They looked at him as they hooked their fingers into the waistband of his boxers, and he closed his eyes and shifted on the bed, raising his hips to let them pull down his pants. Rory lowered their head and kissed Fernald just above the hip, each kiss moving fractionally closer to his cock. 

“Please,” he whispered.

Rory took his cock into their mouth and Fernald gasped. They went slowly, first taking just the head, kissing it, licking at the underside, slowly taking in more and more. Fernald was shaking underneath them. They licked at his balls, taking one into their mouth and sucking, but he didn’t seem to react much, so they returned to his cock. 

Soon they were taking him into their mouth as far as they could, stroking the rest of his length with their hand. Fernald’s reactions--the sounds he was making, the way he was clearly struggling to keep still--it was all tremendously arousing, and they couldn’t help giving tiny moans of satisfaction around his cock.

Fernald tapped them on the shoulder. “Hang on, stop.” 

Rory stopped and sat back up in concern. “You don’t like it?”

“No, no, I like it a lot,” said Fernald, trying to catch his breath, “but I want to do something for you.”

“That _was_ doing something for me,” murmured Rory. 

“I know,” said Fernald. “Believe me, I know. But it’s your turn, let me--you’re so beautiful, let me show you. Let me take care of you.”

He wrapped his arms around them and drew them close. “I need you--need to feel you close to me.”

“I need it too,” whispered Rory. “I love it when you talk to me like that.”

“I can’t wait to see you naked,” Fernald went on. “I want to kiss you all over--want to make you feel the same way you do to me.”

Rory undressed, letting the pink satin slip away. Fernald watched them in awe. 

“So beautiful,” he repeated. 

He kissed their shoulder, their breasts, gently, almost _worshipful_. His tongue played over their nipple, lightly at first, then with just a hint of teeth, until they found themselves panting and reaching between their legs. 

Fernald sat up, placed his wrist against theirs, and shook his head. “I’ll take care of that for you,” he said. “Just lie back and let me do the work. What exactly would you like me to do? What gets you off?”

“Um, well...I can’t really do, like, normal sex--I mean, not _normal_ ,” they corrected themselves, “because describing penis-in-vagina intercourse in those terms centers the experience in both cis- and heteronormativity, which--right.” Discussing heteronormative sex was definitely not what the two of them were trying to do here. “What I mean is...it’s uncomfortable for me unless the person is pretty small...which, um, you’re not--I mean that would totally be okay too, though, if you were, because…” They trailed off as Fernald stroked their cheek. 

“I understand, love. Just relax, and I’ll see what I can do.” He kissed them, then moved lower on the bed and took their cock easily into his mouth, sucking gently, making them moan. 

“Do you like that?” he asked.

“Y-yes.”

He moved lower and traced their labia with the tip of his tongue before gently licking their clit. Rory cried out. 

“Or do you like that more?” asked Fernald. 

“I--oh god--I like everything you’re doing.”

Fernald continued to tease their clit for a while, before he moved a bit lower and then his tongue was inside their pussy and _moving_ in ways they hadn’t ever imagined and then their capacity for coherent thought was gone. 

It was excruciatingly pleasurable, but not quite enough to make them finish. After a while, Fernald stopped and looked up at them. “What do you need, sweetheart?”

“More,” they panted. 

“More what?”

“Just--you--more.” They took a breath and tried again. “Come here.” They took Fernald by the arm and directed him upward, toward them, and kissed him. As they reached for his cock, he began, “But I thought you didn’t--oh,” he broke off as Rory’s hand guided his hard cock against their own. “ _Oh_.”

The two of them thrust against each other, and Rory stroked them both slowly, together. Soon, the combined pressure of their hand and Fernald’s hard cock pushed them over the edge, and they continued to stroke Fernald until he came shortly after. 

He let himself collapse next to them on the bed. “Oh my god.”

“Was that okay?” asked Rory. “I mean--was it good? Good enough?”

Fernald turned over and kissed them. “Honey, anything would have been ‘good enough.’ Last night was good enough." He slid an arm around their shoulders and pulled them close. "Just being with you is enough.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Now on to write some season 3 fics!)


End file.
